


Bittersweet

by margoteve



Series: Blame Disney [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bullying, F/M, I gave you fluff now it's time for Angst, Reader Is Not Frisk, mobbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6787795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margoteve/pseuds/margoteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how much you try to keep your personal life and work separate word gets out that you're dating a monster. You may not go around announcing it, but you're not keeping it a secret either. Of course there's some people out there who don't like this. How do you deal with this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> This work has been edited with the help of followmetoyourdoom. Chronologically wise this happens paralel to Not a Romance Couple, with the end happening after NaRC. I hope you like it.  
> Please leave a comment or kudo, to let me know. Also if you have questions or anything - shoot me an ask at margoteve.tumblr.com  
> 

Not all prejudice and hate comes in violent. Some is quiet, like the ice cold stare, unwelcoming body language, whispering behind your back. It’s the slow realisation that you’re being given less important tasks at work. That people no longer offer you to join them at lunch as much as before. But you try not to mind. You try to ignore the sting of rejection and fear as you eat your lunch. At least not completely alone. After all there’s Maria. And if she’s not there you text Sans or your friends. 

When you come home you ignore the new graffiti on your door. You will paint over it on weekend. You basically blocked all anonymous messages or messages from unknown people on social media. You ignore emails that you don’t know addresses of. The traditional mail is much trickier. It looks like those people learned to disguise their hate in clever way. Nevertheless it ends in trash. You only say hello these days to handful of people. Ignoring comes much easier to you these days. 

Sometimes all you want to do is scream. Scream in people’s faces. Scream about how horrible and shallow they are. How they can all go to Hell. It makes you angry. So damn angry and scared. But you bite your lips, clench your fists and soldier on. When it gets particularly difficult you whip your phone and call Sans. Usually his voice and jokes are enough to lift your mood. Enough to chase the worries away and spin the illusion that the world is alright. 

“No one said it will be easy, sweetie,” your mother tells you one day after you call her.

“I know, it’s… just so hard…,” you admit and immediately feel like such a bad person.

You start on thinking about Sans ' offer to move in with them, but you’re afraid. Afraid things might get worse. For you, for them. It’s kind of selfish and it breaks you a little.  

No choice is good. 

One day is particularly bad. Someone spilled something stinking over your door. Without time to clean it you decided to do it after work. Your colleagues decided to be more verbal with their opinions. Not directly to you but made sure you’re there and hear everything. There’s some nasty post-its on your desk and you bring it to HR. You are sure it will all fall on deaf ears. Might as well quit before they fire you. But you endure. During lunch it seems like no one is there to talk to you. Everyone is busy. Maria is on sick leave. You’re alone. When you come back home there’s police in front of your doors. Apparently someone tried to break in but the neighbour spooked them. 

You thank the old lady, Mrs. Thompson, for it. It’s the first gesture of goodwill from a stranger you had in awhile. She waves her hand and offered to invite you for a pie later. And so you’re left with cleaning the doors. You’ll need new locks because the old ones were busted. 

You finally break down while washing the doors. It’s because of your fingernail. The damn thing decided to break and somehow that little pain has you sobbing. And so you just sit on the floor weeping. Your phone buzzes. It’s Sans.

“H-’alo?”

“ _ kn- babe are you crying _ ?”

“No,” you sniffle and try to sound normal but it’s obviously not working.

“ _ what happened _ ?”

That’s when you spill everything. It just overflows from you and you can’t control it anymore. And he listens. Patiently takes in every word in. It takes a while because at times you can’t even use your voice and just cry until you can collect yourself again. Once you’re done you can hear only silence on the other end.

“Sans?” Did he hand up? Did you say too much? Suddenly you regret saying anything.

“ _ would you prefer we broke up _ ?” he finally speaks up.

“What? No! Of course not!” you protests, but it’s true, the thought passed your mind. It would be the easy way out, wouldn’t it? The call ended and you feel dread.

Suddenly there’s arms wrapping around you. You stiffen but when you look up it’s him. Stupid skeleton shortcutted his way to you. Your arms immediately find their way around him and you cling to him. The dams brake once again and you stay like this until your throat feels raw and eyes sting from the salt.

“i’m getting you home,” he says and you nod. 

Sans helps you up, supporting you and you both take a step forward. And just like that you’re in his room. In his house across the city. Home. Frankly it was much cleaner than when you started dating. The sheets on his bed are clean when he sits you down. Bony fingers brush through your hair and down your face.

“try to sleep,” it’s more of an order and a soft smile plays on your face.

“Okay.”

It takes minutes before your mind gives in and , exhausted, you drift into nothingness. When you wake up you are wrapped around Sans, who sleeps right next to you. He’s warm, not as soft as a human but still comfortable. He has his arm around your waist, the other arm is under your head. You can feel the hum of his soul and magic as you snuggle closer. And you breathe in. There’s a faint scent of ketchup and sweat. And ozone. 

“m’rnin’” you hear him murmur and you smile, snuggling into his chest.

“Morning,” you whisper back. 

“how you feelin’?” 

“Better.”

“that’s good,” he sighs nuzzling the top of your head. He seems to doze off again and you don’t mind.

You stay in bed for a while longer, until Papyrus charges in signaling the end of cuddles. A new day beginning. After washing up Papyrus makes sure you eat the breakfast he made, which wasn’t that bad. Then the three of you have a talk about you moving in. Once that's settled, Papyrus has to leave for work. And that leaves you and Sans to talk. He looks… concerned. And stern. 

“Are you angry with me?” you ask carefully.

“a bit, yeah” he admits and you wince with guilt. “why didn’t you tell me about all of that earlier?”

“I thought I can handle it,” you admit ashamed.

“you know we’re all here for you.  _ i’m _ here for you. damn it i’m your boyfriend, i should have know that! have you told  _ anyone _ about it?”

“Some to my mother…” just that your co-workers were getting distant.

“but not me,” his voice dropped to a displeased tone.

“I’m sorry… I… I think I didn’t want to bother you…”

“bother me? you were getting DEATH THREATS! i should be bothered about it!”

You recoil at his voice. You didn’t know Sans was capable of raising his voice like that.

“I’m SORRY. What else can I say?! I know it was stupid! And I’m sorry, I just… I didn’t…” you start to shake and you hug yourself. You shut your eyes trying not to cry again. 

“shit, babe. i’m sorry. just, when you told me all that yesterday. babe, i freaked out. what if something did happen to you? something that’s not just nasty words on doors or broken bones in mail?” he sits next to you again, pulling your head over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“stop. don’t say that again,” he sighs and rubs circle over your back. “i’m sorry i blew up at you.”

“You sure did,” you agree and he snorts.

“just promise to tell me this sort of things when they happen, alright?”

“Okay. Pinkie promise.”

He chuckles and you know you’re both fine again. You hope so at least as you try not to cling too hard to him. 

Then you both go back to your flat - taking “shortcuts” to get your stuff. You take Sans to Mrs. Thompson for the pie. She’s a delight and even manages to crack some skeleton jokes with Sans (he started them as usual). Then you go to your landlord, to get all the paperwork signed and sorted out. Later you quit your old job, and start working at a flower shop not far from Sans and Papyrus’ place. You manage.

Life isn’t just sweet or bitter. It’s much more bittersweet. And as you link your hand with Sans’ and feel him squeeze it gently, a feeling of Determination overcomes your Soul. Whatever comes for you next you can face it. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and see you later with a new update as I'm working on an "origin" story (as well as another angst short).


End file.
